Come With Me to the Land of My People

It's a beautiful overcast morning, a perfect day to head out to Amish country.

We will be your tour guides. At this time, we ask you to please turn your cell phones off and hold all questions/applause until the end.

See the corn fields whizzing by? That means we're getting closer. Listen closely. Can you hear my people calling us?

Well, not us, me. They're calling me, you know, because I'm one of them. But they said you can come along.

Ah, yes. Here we are. Home at last.

Hello, lovely sprawling landscape and modest, immaculate farms.

My mom's friend Julie once lamented that she needed to visit Italy. "I miss the old country," she said. My mom thought it was really funny because Julie is not Italian. But I know what Julie meant, except that I mean it even more because I really am Splinter Group Amish. I mean, I'm pretty sure that I am.

Anyway, back to my old country. There are cows in the old country. "Hi, cows! It's me, Tiffany! Remember?"

Oh yes, they remember.

Hello, silos! Good job storing all that corn and grain!

I'm getting hungry, are you? Let's stop for some freshly roasted Amish chicken, and let's eat it Amish-style. All you need is a napkin and ten greedy fingers. Mmmmm.

And for dessert, how about a warm Amish pumpkin pie? Made in a real Amish kitchen by a real Amish woman with a real Amish baby on her hip? And wrapped in real Amish plastic wrap!

Again, no utensils required. Just unwrap the plastic, stick your face in, and go to town.

Now some of you may be wondering if it's hard work and humility all the time out here among my people. Is there a place for fun? Do the Amish have a sense of humor? I answer you with Exhibit A:

And Exhibit B:

What is this, you wonder? Isn't it obvious? It's your everyday, run-of-the-mill flower bed filled with outgrown Amish shoes turned into planters for succulents. Care for a closer look?

Amish humor: it's very dry and understated, like a good wine. At least that's what I hear. I don't drink wine because I'm Splinter Group Amish. And Mormon. And Jew-ish.

It's complicated. {Sigh.}

Would you like to step out for a bit and get some exercise? How about a ride on these little Amish scooters, left here unattended?

Wheeeeeeee! Feel the wind rush through your hair as you scoot along! Pay no attention to the little Amish kids chasing after us and crying--that's how they express joy!

Oh, that was exhilarating! In a modest, unassuming, God-fearing way.

Good golly, where has the time gone? We'd better get back in the car and head home. Wave goodbye to the sweeping landscape.

See you next time, sweeping landscape of my people!

Fasten your seatbelts and settle in for the ride back to electricity and bean burritos! Our tour is over. Any questions?

Yes, you, in the back. What's that?

Oh yes, of course, I almost forgot to show you our new car! Here is the interior--very comfy and black.

And the exterior? Well, it's a little boxy, but I'm into that.

Random: Splinter Group Edition

1. Boy, do I have a lot of things to tell you.
2. Yesterday my mom informed me that I might possibly be related to the Amish.  
3. Or at least a splinter group of the Amish.
4. IT'S ALL MAKING SENSE NOW, ISN'T IT?
5. If proven true, this will be a touching portion of the Hallmark made-for-TV movie of my life.
6. Or the E! True Hollywood Story.
7. Either one.
8. Speaking of the Amish, I used a little bit of my Amish hot sauce last night on my chicken tacos.
9. Just a splash.
10. It was mildly delicious.
11. Yet wholesome.
12. With a tiny suggestion of spice.
13. I enjoyed it thoroughly.
14. But was overwhelmed with guilt afterward.
15. And felt compelled to repent.
16. That's Amish hot sauce for you.
17. In other news, I visited the dermatologist yesterday.
18. I made some observations.
19. There is a vast difference between the waiting rooms of the dermatologists and the family practitioners.
20. And the gynaroos.
21. And the pediatricians.
22. And even some dentists.
23. The dermatologists office was more like a five-star hotel lobby.
24. And I wondered: Does a dermatology resident do a rotation in Interior Design?
25. I think they do.
26. The "nodules" on my legs are nothing to worry about.
27. Scar tissue from bug bites or ingrown hairs, they said.
28. The dark spot on my forehead is also fine.
29. It's hormonal, they said.
30. "I'm not hormonal!" I screamed.
31. No, I didn't.
32. But that would have been funny.
33. I probably didn't scream that because I'm part Amish.
34. And we just don't do that.
35. Even the splinter groups.
36. We barely eat hot sauce, for crying out loud.
37. I did have a mole cut off yesterday.
38. It's not suspicious, they said, just ugly.
39. And they should know--they've got a degree in Interior Design.
40. So, just to recap--yesterday at the dermatologist I was called hormonal and ugly.
41. And I paid them for it.
42. I felt a little funny about it.
43. But maybe that was just the numbing shots they gave me before the mole-cutting.
44. That made me feel funny too.
45. Actually, that made me feel nothing.
46. Which is funny, if you think about it.
47. Unless you're a robot.
48. This morning Max woke up and put on his Halloween costume.
49. He said, "I can't believe it's October!"
50. I don't know how I'm going to break it to him.
51. You know, that he's part Splinter Group Amish.
52. And we just don't celebrate Halloween.
53. Perhaps I can find a loophole here.
54. What if I dress him up as an Amish kid?
55. Technically, he wouldn't be in costume.
56. I'm really liking the idea of dressing him up as an Amish kid.
57. Then, I wouldn't have to rent an Amish kid .
58. Or go to prison for proposing to rent one.
59. Actually, I don't think I'd go to prison.
60. Once the jury finds out that I'm part Splinter Group Amish, they'll acquit.
61. They'll think I'm subconsciously reaching out to my roots.
    
62. And they will be overcome with compassion.
63. My attorney will show the photograph of my great grandmother and great aunt wearing their little bonnets.
    
64. And everything will be water under the bridge.
65. And also, I will have my attorney serve them Amish donuts while they deliberate.
    
66. They will be putty in our hands.
67. It's a lot of hassle I can avoid.
68. By just dressing my kids up in Amish clothes.
69. Which they will learn to like.
70. Because I will bribe them with video games.
71. And feed them Amish donuts.
72. And small splashes of Amish hot sauce in their chicken tacos.
73. It's win-win.
74. I love it when a plan comes together.
75. Would it bother you if this post ended on number 74 instead of a nice, solid number like 75?
76. Yeah, me too.

You'll Know It's for Real When I Get Invited to the Next Barn Raising

Many years ago, I had two fascinations: the Mafia and the Amish. Since then, I have matured tremendously.  I am now only fascinated with the Amish.  In fact, I love them.  I have loved them longer than there've been fishes in the ocean.  Higher than any bird ever flew.  Longer than that Dan Folgelberg song will be stuck in your head now.

And as luck and job offers would have it, I live ridiculously close to the Amish now.  Which means that God has finally answered my daydreams.  Which also means that I have spent quite a bit of time over the past year stalking befriending them.

Things didn't really start progressing in our friendship until we stopped at an Amish roadside stand in June on our way to Hershey Park.  I purchased a powdered, filled donut for 50 cents, took a bite and had a religious experience.  I'm not kidding.

Over the summer, we headed out to visit them and partake of their divine baked goods and fresh produce every available Saturday morning.  We'd get a couple of twenties out of the ATM and drive out to their luscious landscape and return home with a trunkful of treasures: cakes, pies, breads, jams, oats, watermelon, corn, tomatoes, potatoes, pretzels, smoked chicken, onions, cookies, donuts, squash, zucchini, and handmade soaps.  We'd drive along the roads and marvel at the horse-drawn buggies and the little Amish kids riding old-fashioned scooters.

"I want one of those scooters!" I exclaim almost every time we see one.  There's a store that has them for sale out front.

"What would you do with one?" Ryan asks.

"I don't know, but I really want one." I say.

We stop at the same places every time, individual farms with simple wooden stands stocked with their extremely inexpensive offerings.  The stands are only open on Saturdays and are manned by the family's children.  The children are bashful, polite, and sweet as they answer my questions about this or that.  Many times I bite my tongue before I blurt out, "And how much for one of you little Amish kids?  Just for a week?"  Somehow I feel it's inappropriate, even though I know that we would have a great time together eating bean burritos and watching YouTube videos and turning light switches on and off.

Saturday afternoon we headed out again with my sister-in-law and niece who are visiting.  We took them to our regular stops and filled our arms with freshly baked cookies, pies, and soft white bread that is made out of butter, flour, and God's pure love.  As I handed over my few dollars, I realized for the first time that the girl recognized me.  Did you get that?  The Amish KNOW ME!  She didn't say anything, but she looked at me with familiar eyes; eyes that said, "I know this lady and I like her, even though I think she secretly wants to rent me for a week."

My heart went pitter-pat.

At the next stop, we purchased homemade root beer, potato chips, and a dozen fresh brown eggs.  Oh, and one more thing--hot sauce.  I bought Amish hot sauce.  Wrap your mind around those three words together: Amish hot sauce.  Is that even allowed?!  I mean, it seems a little scandalous.

Discuss.

Next, we pulled into the drive of one of our favorite farms and got out to select from their crops.  The older brother was there and a little sister too.  We looked at the crook-neck pumpkins together and I tried to decide if I could actually attempt cooking one.  An older girl came skipping out of the house, barefoot.  She's helped us a few times before (once she offered me an extra bag for my corn on the cob) and she seemed excited to join us.  We exchanged hellos.  The older boy asked me where we're from and I told him, but I know he's never heard of it before.  I wondered to myself how far his imagination can take him outside of this world.  And if he's ever had a bean burrito.  I got in the car after purchasing two little watermelons and squealed with delight, "They know me!  They remember me!  WE'RE FRIENDS!"

Ryan is used to this.  "I know," he said.

We headed toward home, driving away from the simple life, eating homemade cookies, potato chips and cold, bottled Amish root beer.  My sister-in-law and niece were caught up in the sugary/buttery/homemade Amish high too.  But I was a little more high than they were, because I was high on Amish friendship.

"I'm friends with the Amish," I told them seventeen times.

"I know," they said.

"And I know where I would ride my Amish scooter," I said after a while.

"Where?" asked Ryan.

"Right here in Amish country with all my Amish friends.  We're friends, you know."

"I know," he said.

We are.  We're tight.